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Invisible Lines

In this tiny pinky finger
The smallest of all, holds the greatest of fates. So I'm told.
Funny how the little finger is used. Its digits fragile
in comparison. The oddly notion that it has the most strength.
Somehow, it grasps a little red piece of string, fiery in
all it's glory. A cord designed to withstand seasons
and the tides of time. Somehow, it's straight and tangled.
A beautiful web of loops and holes filled with
destinations and environments. Times I have kissed you.
Will kiss you. Wont kiss you. Places knitted in
Fabrics of dimension and the magnificence seconds, piled high
To the brim of clockmakers and cartographers.
I pull, you follow.
You stretch, I fill in the gaps.
we twist and turn,
bend and run,
swoop and stand still,
fall and lift up
Miles away and up close, in dreams and conscious awake
All of that movement, yet
it still does not break.
And did it not even come close to undone?
Never.
Didn't we
Become one
entangled in skin and hair, no beginning
Or ending as we weave in the sublime? I have been loved. Loved in return
Again and again, breaking rules of what could be and relied on
What should be. You see,
fate does that. Tugs at you, more and more
Till eventually you listen. Begin to pull on the crimson velvety
ropes of what pulls you in. More than magnetism. More than
Cheap thrills or one last night, again. Its something about me,
isnt it? Something you can't quite wrap your head around,
As I dance in twirls and magnificent swirls through your mind.
I am more than history sitting in your present
becoming your future. More than ancient lines on paper of
love letters and sweet nothings. More than something to hold unto
the mind, more than something to stand the
Litmus test of time. Perhaps you know that already.
Perhaps it petrifies you. Scares you that I have become
Your second heartbeat, your synchronous being of
Feeling and all things of beautiful.
So I'll continue to run across your mind.
Shall we dance?
Shall we begin to explore the knotted confusion and let our
Nimble hands do the talking-
wrist to wrist. Arm to arm. Hand to hand
Sifting through time, place...those imaginary grains of sand.
Time holds no dominion. No single circumstance.
The small of our fingers intertwined in beautiful red
From the beginning of our eyes
At first glance.

-brr

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